


Burn Me Up From the Inside

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Grace Kink, PWP, S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Takes place mid/late season 6) </p><p>In the grace of an angel pulsed the wrath of heaven and she was a sinner to her core.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Me Up From the Inside

Meg’s deep red lips curled into a grin as she strode through the door to the abandoned warehouse, boots crunching detritus under foot, winding through corridors of steel and concrete until she came to a wide open space, where the glass ceiling overhead had shattered long ago and sunlight filtered down to the floor crawling with moss and weeds. Why she came was already standing there, face crooked upward peering through the mangled window frames at the sky, trench coat hanging loosely off his frame. The dull gray tones of the factory and the feeble greens of vegetation creeping back in were broken up with bright neon graffiti sprawling over any available surface. 

“You lost angel boy, cause I gotta say, this is a pretty rough side of town.” 

The hard angled face turned towards her, eyes bright, lips set and she figured she wouldn’t get a word out of him until after. He was usually like that, like he had to shore himself up, like a word would break whatever was between them, maybe he didn’t want to let himself think, there were a lot ways it could be but Meg didn’t really care. She didn’t really care if he was using her for whatever strange little machinations turned the gears in his angel head, cause she was just using him too. 

“You picked the location.”

Straightforward, something they both knew, there was nothing in his tone or his body language to hint at why he even kept showing up when she called. Course, she didn’t really know why she kept calling. 

In a few strides she was met with strong arms around her shoulders and nimble fingers in her hair, mouth plush and eager, body a hard tense line against her. He was always stiff at first, but it was taking less time for the resistance in his limbs to loosen. She, however, had absolutely no compunctions with what they did, rather, there was a certain level of taboo in their strange non relationship that made her demonic little heart cackle. Pliant and yielding from the moment he touched her, she wasn’t going to fight this time, she could feel an itch under her skin already for that unique little something extra that the angel could give her. They had discovered it purely by accident at first -and it was disgustingly sappy how he had seemed concerned for her after – but the second time she goaded him to releasing it, it was torturously slow and deliciously painful when he was all restrained caution and strength. Now, she wanted it almost every time she could tempt the angel into committing carnal sin.

Pulling away from a fervent kiss to tip up on her toes and nip along his jaw she crooned in his ear, “Want you to burn me up from the inside baby.”

Hands clenched tight on her hips and she was only slightly disoriented when she found herself on her back in a blink, the practiced ease and fluidity as he had kicked her ankle out and flipped her down sinking to his knees between her legs something she was getting used to. Rocking her hips up and clasping thighs against his sides as she pushed the coat over his shoulders and set to loosening the tie enough to pull it over his head, her head knocked back against the dirty floor at the hot open mouthed kisses he was leaving down along her neck. 

Castiel slid out of his coat, crawling up in between her legs, ducking his head when the tie was pulled over, holding himself up on one hand while his other dipped under the hem of her shirt, smooth expanses of skin curving serpentine up a plush hip, in and in then rounding again at the ribs and over the swell of a breast. She pulled herself up with a grip on his shoulders and he took the opportunity to tug the shirt up enough that when she let go he could pull it over her head. Pushing a hand beneath her nimble fingers unclasped the bra and it was tossed aside as she worked around him to unbutton his starched white shirt wrinkled and dirty now. 

There was a purely corporeal reaction to the undulations of her body beneath him as she pressed their exposed chests together, something he was becoming more familiar with as he spent more time in a vessel, the way bodies could feel, the way they could want, but he kept coming back to the demon because he needed more than that. It was blasphemous, to covet a demon, but Castiel had his own odd curiosities about this, he would touch her with his grace, not enough to burn the demon out completely but she still burned from it, just enough to brush the edges of their opposing energies together and push at the demonic grip around her soul. Castiel knew that angel’s could fall in slow pieces, the longer they spent away from the heaven the more they acclimated to a human vessel, an angel’s grace could weaken and slough away in pieces. A part of him wanted to know if demons could rise in small measures as well, if it were possible to purify the human soul so warped by the demon they had become. He longed to know Meg, who she really was. 

Teeth against his neck snapped him back to the present, Meg biting down viciously enough to bruise tender skin, greedily biting along the curve of his shoulder leaving a trail of bruises blooming against skin dotted with horripilation. Letting go of the control he frequently maintained that prevented him from feeling much sensation in his vessel, he reveled in the minutia of tangibility, the yield of skin under his fingers, the taste of sweat, the tickle of her long soft hair. He could spend hours exploring the dips and curves that composed her vessel, the way it moved, the way it reacted, but she was unbuttoning his pants already, fervent hands hot and insistent dipping down pulling him in. 

Meg liked it when Castiel was too distracted to heal himself immediately from the small bruises she’d leave with the scrape of nails and the bite of sharp teeth, digging nails in to leave parallel furrows down the broad expanse of his chest, undoing the belt and zipper of those cheap accountant pants, pushing her hands down to curve around to the swell of his ass, hips hitching up and legs wrapping round as she tried wriggling out of her undone pants as well. Foreplay was nice and all, especially when it involved slicing someone open, but she needed that heat, that pulse of power she’d only ever felt with this angel. Spreading her arms down across the floor to push up, bucking her hips swiftly and tilting over to roll Castiel onto his back, Meg followed the momentum to find herself straddled across his waist, smirking down at wide eyes and a wide open mouth. 

Licking her lips she pushed jeans down past the curve of her hips and pulled Castiel’s pants down as well, scooting down his body and tugging material with till she had both of them naked, crawling back up his legs, fingers fanned wide as hands spread over hard thighs and up the quivering expanse of his stomach, his own slender hands coming down to meet hers, feather light up the length of arms and down to cup the sway of her breasts, his hips pushing up, rocking, cock hard as it bounced on his stomach. 

Meg liked to be watched, she liked putting on a show for him, swaying on top of him as the intense blue blue of his eyes followed her motions and flicked all over her body like he couldn’t decide what to settle on. Kneeling astride his lap she pushed down to flatten his cock between the folds of her labia, teasing, slick and dripping an easy slide grinding down flat against him, hands balanced on his ribs and the staccato heave of erratic breathing, such a sweet sweet angel just a dirty whore for her. 

Castiel was a tactician, a soldier, a weapon of god, he had the patience of one who watched and waited, he had strength and restraint, but he had been finding an intriguing nuance between the exertion of restraint and the hold of inhibition. He could remain stoic, he could let her play games, he could school his expression to nothing but detachment. But he didn’t want to. There was no need to hold back when they could they be shameless together. Wanting for it’s own selfish sake – not for need of duty and responsibility - was something he found new and intoxicating.

Letting Meg strip them both down, the constriction of firm thighs against his side as she ground against him in a tease, he enjoyed watching the flex of muscle under smooth skin and the way her stomach dipped and curved with the motion of her ribs back and forth, marveling at the intricacy of the anatomy. But he knew what they both wanted and he would be the one to take it. Surging up to flip her now, one hand curved forward against the small of her back to ease her down while the other braced on the floor where he flipped over, Castiel nudged her legs wide open when he had her on her back, pushing forward to sink into her heat as she wrapped a leg around his waist and pulled him in tighter. 

Holding himself up with hands pressed to the floor beside her head, curled over her and pushing her body up to accommodate the angle as he drove in, Castiel settled till they were flush, her arms coming up to circle around his back, bodies pressed together he stilled, focused on her eyes, he let his grace unfurl slowly, just a thin tendril creeping between them, seeping into her body both physically and metaphysically, a pulse of energy, the purifying energy of angel, of his true form that could obliterate a demon in a second if he let loose the full force of it, but he let it creep like a slow growing vine, watching her mouth widen in an unvoiced scream as she bowed off the floor, fingers gripping into his skin painfully until he felt the surface break and a trickle of blood lazily started following the curve of his back. Once she blinked and started rocking her hips against him, he moved again, a hand lifting up her hips to thrust in hard and deep.

Meg shivered at the first tentative contact of grace, it was like skinny dipping in an ice cold lake, you couldn’t acclimate, you couldn’t just slowly ease in, you had to dive in head first and let it swallow you whole, she encouraged him to let it go, let it envelope her, let it sweep through her body and scorch her soul. Every point of contact with his skin burned hot, the seep of grace flowing into her lashed into the skin and muscle like barbed wire leaving trails of raw pulsing pain everywhere, wrapping her up tight and choking off her mind until it was all pure unadulterated instinct, panic, euphoria. It was simultaneously nothing like being tortured and everything like being tortured, the blinding kind of pain that kept you tethered in immediacy, just a bundle of sensation and reaction, yet it was somehow blissfully cathartic, and she could see him, truly see him, the white of his grace flickering in his eyes blurring the edges of his existence, the broad sweeping expanse of shadowy wings stretched behind him, blinking with the electric energy crackling like lightning over his other worldly body. In the grace of an angel pulsed the wrath of heaven and she was a sinner to her core.

Castiel fought against the erratic thrashing of Meg underneath him, writhing and pushing up against him, moaning with a broken open raw need, clutching him close as she mumbled incoherently. Shuddering when he felt the intensity of her release in the clench of slick muscles around his cock and slender legs around his back, he watched her eyes still, grace pulsing hot between them. Warm brown eyes flicked to black and he could see the expression of her demonic soul through the fringes of the corporeal vessel, twisted and dark, a creature wrought of pain and spite, and he knew she was made into this; the more he knew of her the more he knew how lost she was, she had lost her cause, lost her humanity, lost herself, but along the periphery of the black ichor of her existence crept the singing white hot light of his grace, and in his mind he saw her less and less as a demon, more simply just as Meg. For all his time away from heaven the stark black and white he had known washed out to faded grey, grey, grey. And he knew he was losing himself as well.

Coming hard with a rough scream he clamped down on his grace so he wouldn’t burn her out, cutting it off flooded him with the more human sensations of the body, warm skin pressed against him, the hardness of concrete making his knees throb, long trails of scratches down his back itching and slick with blood. Taking a shuddering breath, and again, and again until he could see straight, Castiel pulled out, gingerly backing away from their connection.

Beneath him Meg had gone limp, he gently cradled her vessel and shuffled over to wrap her up in his trench coat, brow wrinkling as he noticed faint red patterns twining across her body like vines, the skin around her eyes a dull grey, she was dry and hot to the touch but an erratic pulse was found under her wrist. Taking note to be more careful next time, more controlled, he folded the coat over her and sat watch. Castiel found himself wandering back to a thought he never liked visiting, Meg's vessel, if she could feel what the demon did. Meg should be able to keep her suppressed, unaware, but as Castiel found himself losing more control he questioned the control other's had. He knew he should care more than he did, a niggling voice of dissension present that he had changed too much since stooping so low as to work with Crowley, but he was so focused on his end goal that the tunnel vision helped blocking out these uncomfortable thoughts.

Fully dressed with a bare flick of power, he sat cross legged by her head, brushing a long curled strand of hair back from her brow. The sky was darkening to a deep inky blue by the time she stirred, blinking up at him with a weary but sated expression.

“You know, every time I see you, you look a little more guilty Clarence.”

He didn’t answer her, though she was used to him being reticent and awkward, this quiet was disconcerting. Rolling her eyes and standing, letting the trench coat fall away to start pulling on her clothes again, she continued. “See now, it’s the angels you gotta worry about more than the demons. Cause demons, they love to brag about all the fucked up shit they do. But angels, they’ll just sneak around real quiet like and hide their shame.”

Meg might be tempted to think Castiel’s attitude had something to do with them, but that particular flavor of guilt and shame was something she was familiar with by now on him, and this was a whole nother something else, something bigger. As she pulled her shirt over her head, Meg heard the familiar rush of air and twisted around in the warehouse to find only empty space.

“Really?”


End file.
